I'm a little fanatical about sanitation. I wash my hands maybe a dozen times a day, and I have hand sanitizers all over the building. Purell should make me its spokesperson. I also keep Zicam -- that's a homeopathic zinc gel -- in a desk drawer. If you're feeling a little stuffy, come see me: Eighty percent of the time Zicam will nip it in the bud. If you've already got a cold, you're banned from the office. Don't give it to me, and don't give it to your colleagues.
It's easy to catch colds around here, because there's a 30- to 40-degree difference between the temperature in the plant and in the rest of the building. To boost my immune system, I drink "green lemonade," which our executive chef, Rich Vellante, whips up for both of us. It's made from kale, ginger, lemons, and apples. He keeps it in the refrigerator in our test kitchen, and every few days I drop by for a glass. It's great for the digestion, too.
The test kitchen is also where I go to taste recipes in progress. I'll tell Rich if I think we need to punch up the spice or try a lemon caper sauce instead of aioli. Sometimes, I'll get behind the counter and try tweaking a recipe myself. I'm not a chef, but I formed strong opinions about food growing up -- most of them a reaction to my mother's cooking. My father would bring home a nice piece of plain fish, and she would lay it on aluminum foil, pour milk over it, and burn it. I ate ketchup with everything to mask the taste. I still keep a bottle in my office and use it on 50 percent of my food, just from habit.
If I don't hit the road every week to 10 days, I go stir-crazy. Often, I'm scouting real estate. We open only a few restaurants annually, but I like to be two years out identifying locations. I visit at least 50 potential sites a year, and I've done reconnaissance on hundreds in New York City. Occasionally, I travel overseas to vet potential suppliers. We're sourcing shrimp from Vietnam and Thailand, never China, but whenever you go international, there's risk. I insist on personally touring factories and meeting with owners. I'm listening for details: Do they talk about temperature and purity? People who view fish as a commodity mostly talk about developing a personal relationship. I want to hear about the product first.
I spend a lot of time in the restaurants. Most days when I'm in town, I try to visit at least one or two. I'll sit at the bar and strike up a conversation with customers about the food, the wine, the service. I may be in the fish business, but I have a retail mantra: ROG. That stands for return of the guest. We want people to come back, and talking to seven or eight customers a week is a great way to learn what brings them in and what turns them off.
My best information comes from people on the frontlines: the wait staff and bartenders and line cooks. But it's hard to talk to them while they're working, and they may feel uncomfortable opening up in front of their managers. So eight years ago I created the president's advisory council, or PAC. Every quarter the council, comprising two hourly workers from each restaurant, meets with me here at headquarters. I lay out the state of the business, then break the council into four groups and pose a question. How can we improve training or benefits? How can we make the restaurants more kid-friendly? The groups hash it out for 20 minutes among themselves. Then they give their presentations, and we discuss it together. We close with a forum in which anyone can talk about anything. These guys have great ideas, and I act on most of them. Recently, they suggested we relocate not only veteran managers to restaurants launching in new cities, but also bartenders, waiters, and hostesses, who can pollinate the outposts with our culture. We're trying that with our first Atlanta restaurant, which opens this month. A few years ago, I started a similar PAC meeting for restaurant management staff. They also have great ideas but tend to be more cheerful about the status quo.
I used to regularly go to the pier where fish auctions are held in Gloucester, a port about 30 miles north of here. My son Matthew handles that these days. (My other son, Scott, is also in the business.) I still go to Gloucester sometimes to confer with fishermen about legal issues. Congress has drafted some pretty draconian laws limiting their days at sea and how much and what they can catch. The laws are designed to sustain the fish population at all costs, and they fall disproportionately on day boats. They go out for a few hours at a time and don't drag the ocean bottom or take huge hauls. The day boats are our main suppliers: Their fate affects Legal's fate and also the fate of the industry. So we talk about how proposed and existing laws are affecting their livelihoods. Then when I'm in Washington, I'll meet with a representative, usually Barney Frank, to argue our cause.
I'm frequently at the restaurants in the evening. Sometimes, I'll meet with staff there after closing, which gets me home past 11. If I'm home at a sane hour, my wife and I go out for a light supper, either at a Legal or another restaurant. If it's another restaurant and they do something great with food or service, I'll shoot an e-mail about it to myself or to someone on staff. If the food or the service is bad, I never complain. I just sit back and enjoy it.
